


I'll Take Care of You

by dabs_into_oblivion



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, and she is also extremely protective, mirror philippa has a soft side, normalize sex without dicks or dildos 2k19, sometimes people with vaginas don't/can't climax and that's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabs_into_oblivion/pseuds/dabs_into_oblivion
Summary: I tried to write porn and emotions found their way in. Spoilers for season 2. Michael's grieving over her mother, thinks she wants a specific kind of comfort, and ends up getting exactly what she needs.





	I'll Take Care of You

**Author's Note:**

> my first attempt at smut and i can't keep feelings out of it

It's only when Tilly enters that Michael realizes she's crying. Tilly takes one look at her and immediately wraps her arms around her roommate. They sit in silence for several minutes before Michael finally sniffs, looks up, and announces that she could use a tissue.

Because Michael just almost died and isn't supposed to be on duty, she gets to be alone when Tilly leaves, which really isn't fun. Her mind wanders, making a list of everyone else who isn't on duty right now, and she realizes she has no idea what exactly the former Terran emperor is supposed to be doing with her time. Maybe not the most logical decision, but she figures she'll go ask.

Of course, when the door to Philippa's chambers opens, Michael wants to disappear.

"Oh, Michael." Philippa looks up from her desk. "Come in, come in."

Michael steps into the room. It's nothing like her Philippa's quarters on the Shenzhou; no, this is much more austere, more daunting. Michael feels her confidence shriveling.

When she doesn't say anything for a few minutes, Philippa looks at her again, this time with genuine concern. "You are hurting."

It's not a question. Michael nods.

"And you are here for . . . comfort? Emotional support?" Philippa snorts. "If you think I'm going to do any of that, you --"

"Sex." Michael's voice is embarrassingly high and squeaky. She clears her throat and tries again. "I'm here for sex."

Instantly, Philippa's entire presence shifts into something much less intimidating. "Are you sure? You Federation officers are so soft, I wouldn't want to hurt you." Despite the jibe, Michael senses genuine concern and wonders briefly how much of an emotional component the relationship between her mirror counterpart and the woman standing before her had.

She swallows before saying, "Do you trust me to tell you what I want and what I don't want?"

Philippa nods, walking around the edge of her desk toward the other woman.

Michael shakes her head. "I need to hear you say it. I trust you. Do you trust me?"

Philippa looks floored. "I trust you, Michael."

"Okay." That's all she needed to hear. "Then kiss me."

She realizes seconds before their lips meet that this gentleness, this uncertainty is very out of character for this Philippa, or maybe it's in character and she just doesn't know who she's dealing with. She doesn't have anything to go on, because she never mentioned her feelings to her former captain, but she finds herself hoping that it would have been like this.

Philippa tastes faintly of Andorian brandy, her mouth warm and soft, her tongue insistent. Michael discovers that she no longer needs or wants to breathe. She's never been kissed like this, like the kiss is the main event instead of just foreplay. She could kiss Philippa forever and be perfectly satisfied.

When they break apart for air, Philippa's hand is on Michael's jacket zipper, and then her jacket is on the floor and so is her shirt, and for once Michael doesn't have to worry that her partner won't know how bra clasps work, and her mouth finds Philippa's again as her hands clumsily fist themselves in the other's hair. Philippa drops Michael's bra onto the floor and trails her mouth down Michael's neck, across her collarbones, and down to her breasts. This is also new, thinks Michael hazily, her hands following Philippa's head. Philippa licks one of Michael's nipples almost lazily, teasingly, and Michael gasps.

"Is that okay?"

"Yes," Michael breathes, "more, please," and her gasps become more frequent as Philippa begins sucking on her nipple, rolling the other one between finger and thumb. She's just beginning to get used to the sensation when Philippa  _bites_ and  _fuck_ it feels amazing. Something deep inside her clenches, and Philippa raises her head and smirks.

"This isn't fair, you're still wearing clothes," Michael protests.

"Shh." Philippa kisses her forehead, then her cheek, then captures her mouth for a kiss that wipes away the memory of the others. She thought those were good; this is cosmic. "You're the one who needs comforting, darling."

How is she so unselfish? Or maybe it's selfish, maybe she wants to see Michael come undone. Either way, Michael finds that she doesn't really care. This wasn't supposed to be emotional, but to hell with it, if the Terran emperor has feelings, that's her own issue.

Philippa's mouth is already trailing downward, past her breasts to her stomach and even lower. "These are in the way." She unbuttons Michael's pants and slides them down. "You can leave them on or not; it's your choice."

Michael hesitates. "You're not taking my underwear off?"

Philippa looks her in the eyes. "Would you like me to?"

"Yes, please."

Philippa pulls her underwear down, tapping each of Michael's legs in turn. Michael lifts them. Philippa hums. "You're so polite, so accommodating. You let Starfleet walk all over you. It was a terrible decision to use you as bait, but did they listen? No! And I almost lost you."

Michael pulls her up, gripping her face between her hands. "Well, I lost you in my universe. I watched you die, Philippa. It was my fault."

"And it was my fault you died in mine," whispers Philippa.

Michael can't do this, she just came here for sex, but she forgot along the way that she's never been good at casual sex. She feels tears falling on her arm, feels Philippa's arms around her, feels her lips against her hair. She breathes. Eventually she stops crying.

"You don't just want sex, do you?" Philippa's voice is quiet against her ear.

"No."

"Then it won't just be sex." Philippa strokes Michael's back. "For the record, I always intended to comfort you, but I wanted you to admit that you needed it first."

Michael nods, wraps her arms around the other. "I don't know if -- I mean -- I still want sex." She's blushing, laughing at herself a little because she's being ridiculous, why would Philippa still want her when she's just been crying?

"So do I," says Philippa. "Do you know what I most want right now?"

Michael shakes her head. "Tell me?"

"I want to taste you."

It takes a second for it to click; another new thing. "Are you sure?"

Philippa growls, slides a hand up to the back of Michael's neck, and attacks her mouth, whispering "yes" between each kiss. "You don't know how long I've wanted this," she breathes. "My Michael would never let me; she always had to be in control, always had to have the upper hand. She never let me do anything I really wanted to." She lifts Michael, carries her, dumps her unceremoniously onto her bed, and is on top of her before Michael can blink.

Michael's finding it more and more difficult to breathe as Philippa kisses her way down her fully nude body. She hasn't shaved, she hasn't prepared, she's fully expecting that she won't be good enough, she won't --

Philippa's mouth is on her, gentle, just sitting there and breathing. She gasps, but it comes out as a squeak. Philippa chuckles, sending a rumble through Michael, making her toes curl. And then Philippa starts licking.

Michael loses track of time, space, everything except Philippa's mouth. She's floating on a cloud, she feels an intense need to pee but also there isn't any pee to be done, she feels her hips moving without any direction whatsoever from her brain . . .

. . . and then, suddenly, it's too much. She untangles a hand from Philippa's hair, taps her shoulder, gasps, "Stop."

Philippa pulls away, swiping a hand across her mouth. "Are you okay?"

Michael is still finding it very difficult to breathe; she manages, "Overstimulated."

Philippa nods, wrapping her arms around the Starfleet officer and rocking her back and forth. "It's okay. It's normal." She kisses her hair. "Did you enjoy it, at least?"

"Yes," gasps Michael. "It felt amazing."

Philippa smiles. "I'm glad."

Eventually, when Michael has calmed down, she says, "Did you mean all of that? The stuff about comforting me, and losing me --"

Philippa interrupts her with a kiss. "Yes, you silly girl! The moment I saw you with Lorca at your feet, I knew I wanted you. Of course, because you were mine, come back from the dead. But once I got to know you, I realized you are so much more than anyone else realizes. They don't appreciate you, you know." As Michael prepares to argue, "No, they don't. You're a gem, Michael, and my counterpart was a fool for not seeing it."

"She saw it," says Michael, "but I wasn't brave enough to tell her how I felt."

Philippa hums. "Well, at least we have another chance."

**Author's Note:**

> basically what i'm saying is that ash tyler was a piss-poor lover, don't @ me


End file.
